Not a Chance
by nerdygoddess
Summary: Hermione's the happy go lucky smart girl of Hogwarts. Nothing ever bothers her... or does it? It just turns out that on the inside, she's just the opposite of her outward appearance. The bookworm? Not a chance.


** center b Chapter One On the Inside, It's Different /center /b **

Hermione Granger walked abroad the magnificent passenger train located at Platform 9 ¾ and slid a finger along the side of the red metal exterior walls. She smiled, remembering her first year at Hogwarts. She'd done the same thing, walked up and touched the train to see if it were real, if she actually was going to a prestigious wizarding school such as Hogwarts, and, low and behold, she was. It wasn't just a dream. Climbing the stairs, Hermione carried her trunk and a smaller bag hanging from her shoulder down the train's narrow passageway, searching for an empty compartment. She really wasn't in any mood to speak with anyone, even her best friends at the moment. Settling into a uniformed compartment, she situated everything and lay her head back, her brown, curly hair coming up on either side of her. She groaned... seventh year. Her last year at Hogwarts. To no one's surprise, she had made the position of Head Girl without difficulty, although she was still unsure of the identity of the Head Boy. She didn't care. She just wanted to get through this year with grace and good grades and make her mark, all of that, and then pursue a career in either Magictology (to look up ancient spells) or as a teacher. Magictology wasn't looking too interesting now, especially after last year. So, she wanted to teach at either Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or the North American wizarding school, Tutheningts.

A timid looking girl entered the compartment, and Hermione opened her eyes upon hearing the door slide open. "May I sit here?" she said almost so quietly that Hermione couldn't hear.

"Sure. But I don't feel like talking, okay?"

"Okay." An expression of relief spread over the girl's face as she sat down, fiddling with her pet toad. "There, there, Nerman." she whispered to the amphibian as Hermione closed her eyes again.

The summer had been severely uneventful with the exception of her baby sister being born. Her parents had named her Regina, and she strongly resembled Hermione. But that was pretty much it. She'd read so much that her brain was fit to burst and she just lazed around the house on the muggle computer her parents had given her for her thirteenth birthday. She'd barely written to Ginny, Ron, and Harry; she found no need to. She'd see them in school anyway. The door slid open once again and Hermione groaned. It was the witch with the trolley. The girl leaned over and picked a few things off the trolley and the witch handed Hermione a hand-crafted chocolate Head Girl's badge. Hermione raised an eyebrow. The witch looked at her. "A gift." she said simply before closing the door and continuing on. The girl appeared to be eating while enjoying a book and Hermione held the chocolate piece. Mild joy. Unapparent appreciation. She tore off a piece of the chocolate and slumped over the seat, laying down. The rain was pouring outside, lightning crashing. Two hours to Hogwarts. Savoring the treat in her mouth, she fell asleep soon thereafter.

center /center 

After a thoroughly boring conversation with Ginny and Ron about their summer, Harry walked up and sat down at the wooden table. "Did you like it?" he interrupted.

Confused, Hermione looked to him. "Did I like what?"

Harry smiled to Ginny and Ron, then to Hermione. "The chocolate," he nearly whispered, leaning forward and then easing back. His breath smelled like grass. Bertie Bott's, Hermione assumed.

"Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "It was absolutely lovely, how did you know?" she smiled earnestly.

"I know." Harry replied. Ron and Ginny smiled back.

"Congratulations, Hermione!" Ginny said brightly, her eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, 'Mione, brilliant! Of course, though, you do know you had that one in the bag, don't you?" Ron smiled. Hermione nodded.

"Thanks, guys."

McGonagall stood and clapped his hands together. The Great Hall grew silent and the candles floating overhead the students' heads brightened. Lowering her gaze, McGonagall's voice resounded throughout the room. "Welcome to another wonderful year at Hogwarts, and to all of you first years, welcome. A note to our prefects and Heads, please meet me after the feast in the main corridor to the left..." Hermione leaned on her hand as McGonagall continued the yearly speech, the annual sorting, and then the grand feast. It all played out so wonderfully, and so routinely at the same time. It was getting rather old to Hermione.

After the first day's festivities came to a close, Hermione let loose a yawn, bid her friends goodnight, and carried herself out into the main corridor. A group of students were gathered around McGonagall, some already assigned to carry first-years to the dormitories. The crowd was waning as Hermione stepped into it. McGonagall passed out the passwords and nearly everyone was off. In fact, Hermione was the only one left. McGonagall looked at her. "Miss Granger, the Head Boy is already in the shared dormitory. Your password is 'buttercream drops.' Now, you may continue on, it's up the stairs, to the left, and then there's another flight of stairs to continue up until you see a portrait of a man in armor. I wish you only the best this year, Miss Granger. I know you shall make us all proud." And with that, the elderly witch wandered through the Great Hall's doors once again. Hermione meandered her way to the dormitory, following McGonagall's instructions.

center /center 

She stepped into the dormitory, and it was extravagant, just as she'd thought it would be. Three doors were in the room other than the entryway door. One was the bathroom, the other two the bedrooms. Walking through the spacious area, she arrived at a door she assumed to be her own. She whispered a personal password and closed the door, collapsing on her four-poster bed and atop the decorating pillows. She fell asleep right then and there, in her traveling clothes, not even knowing who the Head Boy was.

The rain was still pouring outside and Hermione sat up in her bed, finding that the only thing from yesterday that she wasn't wearing was her shoes. She rubbed her eyes and fell back again, only to be startled by a knock at the door.

"Umm, hullo, Head Boy here, just wondering if the Head Girl's alright..." came the voice from beyond the door.

"Foolish me," Hermione said in a false high-pitched tone of voice to make it seem she had been awake. "I'm so terribly rude, sorry, I was really rather tired last night," she finished, walking to the door. She put her hand on the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door. Her breathing quickened. "Bloody hell... MALFOY!"

His mouth fell open. "Granger! Oh, God, a whole YEAR WITH YOU! The bloody mudblood!"

As his fingers inched their way into the frame of the door, Hermione forcefully closed the door and a scream filled the dormitory, that of Draco Malfoy. He punched the door, yelling, "You bitch!"

Hermione felt a sense of superiority befall her. "You death eater wannabe!"

She looked under the door and saw a drop of crimson blood stain the carpet. She gasped and hastily opened the door. "I hate you Malfoy, but I didn't mean to..." He was standing in the bathroom, the door open, attempting to fix his three left-hand fingers. "Oh, God," she moaned upon seeing his former fingers, what now appeared to be a bloody mess. He looked up and scowled at her.

"You're sick, Granger."

"I still hate you, Malfoy."

He held up his hand. "Pretty good proof of that, I've got right here." Hermione pulled her wand from her robes pocket. Sighing angrily, she said a spell and tapped the area surrounding his hand. The blood evaporated, leaving small red specks on his hand and his fingers straightened, the bones mended. She rinsed off his hand and then he held it on his own. "You're so annoying," he sighed, leaving for his room. Hermione groaned and sat on the toilet. Early, early morning it was. Since when did Malfoy get up that early? She wondered. Like I'd know anyway... she continued.

It wasn't even dark out. Hermione stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the water droplets pound her back. She stood there, her hair matted against her head in a tangled mess. Sinking down, Hermione sat on the ground and closed her eyes. She halted her breathing before letting out a long breath. She turned off the water, stepped out, and fixed her hair with her wand. Well, atleast it was dry... She wrapped up in a towel and headed for her room. Putting on underwear, a pair of lounging pants and a short-sleeved shirt, she went to slip under the silk sheets, returning to the bed once again. She yearned for a day off, and yet school had just started but a few hours ago. Her mind drifted to various things.

Her parents... happy, fun-loving, and totally obsessed with their new daughter. Hermione's successfulness was now the norm, so every little high grade was not congratulated, every extra effort ignored, every late hour spent left unrecognized. Hell, they were muggles, and as much as she loved them, they would never understand the stresses of being a witch.

The pressure of getting good grades was always a big one, all from herself and other students, albeit indirectly. She wanted good grades, she achieved high scores on exams and projects, but the whole getting-there part was hard. Difficult. Time-consuming.

She wasn't a normal teenager. She was strong-willed, the most intelligent witch in the whole school, talented, responsible, and... unhappy. Best friends with Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, Ronald Weasley, with family connections to the Order of the Phoenix, and Ginny Weasley, one of the nicest girls you'll ever meet.

People always made false assumptions about her. Every time she didn't smile, they'd get so pissed off at her, especially her parents, saying, "You've got everything you could have possibly wanted... why are you being such an ungrateful little bitch?" Truth was, she wasn't ungrateful in the least; she was super appreciative of everything... too bad it never showed. She wasn't really mad, just really sad. And she had no idea why.

Hermione stared at her ceiling, at the giant sunwindow through which she could see the stars. Looking at her muggle clock, she saw that the time read 5:05 a.m. A tear unexpectedly rolled down her cheek and Hermione wondered what was happening to her.

Stirring, an asleep Hermione felt warm and, in her dreams, happy. But that was far from true.


End file.
